


To make a home

by redsnake05



Category: The Quiet Gentleman - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M, Family, Marriage, housekeeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: Drusilla finds ways to shape Stanyon into a home, and Gervase finds that some questions still don't need an answer just yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rain_sleet_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/gifts), [lost_spook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/gifts).



> I was delighted to see two people requesting Drusilla - truly a pearl (a very practical pearl) amongst regency heroines - and I hope you enjoy this story.

Drusilla alighted from the carriage as mistress of Stanyon with rather more briskness and rather less awe than the Dowager was likely to have considered seemly. However, since Drusilla and Gervase had prudently left a buffer of a week between her departure for the dower house and their arrival, she was not inclined to consider what the Dowager might or might not have thought. 

Drusilla, looking up at the imposing front aspect of the Castle, might have been forgiven for harbouring qualms about her ability to manage such a large house. None were evident, however, and, indeed, she felt only eagerness to set the house to rights and make it rather less of a gloomy and inconvenient burden. She had wandered many of the courtyards and winding corridors and draughty galleries, and she felt a quiet affection for the many hidden corners she had found.

Gervase squeezed her hand and drew it through his arm as they climbed the steps. 

"What a tumbledown old thing I'm bringing you to," he said. "I wonder you didn't cry off when you realised we'd have to live here."

"Indeed, my lord, perhaps you offered for me because of my housekeeping skills," said Drusilla. "Deeming me only the lesser of the two evils between inviting your Aunt Cinderford to come and keep house for you."

Gervase laughed, and Drusilla, smiling at him, thought how wonderful it was to be the one that made him laugh so freely. She wasn't sure it would ever stop being a delight for her. 

"My regard for your housekeeping skills, my dear, is very high - in fact, if anyone can turn Stanyon into a home, it would be you - but that is not why I married you. I can say that it was the last thing on my mind when I proposed."

Drusilla looked at him, feeling breathless at the implication of his words, at the look of hungry attention on his face. 

"Really, my lord? Perhaps you could elaborate on exactly which of my skills you were thinking of when you proposed?" She licked her lips, watching him watching the movement.

Before either of them could do anything more shocking, the door swung open ponderously and Gervase merely shook his head in silent, and insincere, reproval as he led her up the last few steps.

Abney greeted them warmly, taking their hats and gloves, inquiring after their journey and quietly assuring Drusilla that the new housekeeper had received her letter with instructions. Drusilla looked around the Hall. She was certain that, good housewife or not, there was little that could be done to make this part of the Castle more comfortable. Even on a hot summer day, there was still a small chilly draft worming its way through the thick stone walls. 

"We'll have afternoon tea immediately," she said to Abney, as she handed over her hat and gloves. He bowed, and led the way. Gervase followed, frowning a little as Abney turned left instead of right, towards the usual sitting rooms and saloons. Drusilla saw the frown and hoped he approved of this, the first change she'd made as the new mistress at Stanyon.

The frown cleared as Abney bowed them into the room she had chosen for their first afternoon tea. She didn't suppose that Gervase even knew that this room existed, but Drusilla had found it one day, carelessly kept and a little dusty, while searching for a trinket box the Dowager was sure she had left somewhere. 

The room was not dusty now. It was, to be fair, a little shabby and clearly decorated in an old-fashioned style, but the doors opened onto the terrace and a fine view of the north garden. Drusilla could not imagine why this room had not been in use since, she guessed, Gervase's grandfather's time.

"This was my mother's favourite sitting room," Gervase said, turning at last. He was smiling, but it was a nostalgic, slightly forlorn thing. "I haven't been in here since I was a small boy."

"We can go somewhere else," said Drusilla. She hadn't meant to stir sad memories, just to start something new on their first day at Stanyon.

"No, not at all," said Gervase. "It is a beautiful place, isn't it?" He drew her with him to the doors, and they stood together in the sun, looking out over the lawn, the neat box hedging and the roses. Drusilla hoped she would have time to bring the gardens back to their former beauty also, but that didn't matter now. Gervase wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders and she slipped hers around his waist, resting her head on him companionably. He was silent, and she waited for him.

"I wonder, sometimes," he said, then stopped. He kissed the top of her head. "I like this room," he finished. "I hope you will find many more ways to make Stanyon more comfortable."

Drusilla let the matter go. There was nothing to be gained by pressing Gervase; he would talk or not in his own time. Drusilla had never been fooled by his deceptive meekness; Gervase had a will of iron under that charming, gentle exterior. Instead she turned her face up to be kissed, and it was a hot, sweet thing that bloomed between them. He liked the room, despite the history, and that was enough.

The door rattled behind them and Drusilla had to laugh, relieved when she heard Gervase chuckle too. She knew Abney could open any door in the Castle with the stealth of a mouse, even those that squeaked and groaned, so the noise must be for their benefit. The tea tray was loaded with Gervase's favourites, and Drusilla poured for them both.

"Do I have other housewifely surprises to look forward to?" asked Gervase.

"Well, I was hoping that perhaps we could choose apartments elsewhere, that are considerably warmer and less gloomy than the ones currently set aside for the head of the house."

"Ah, shades of my ancestors!" he said. "Very well, an excellent and practical suggestion, though I am disappointed you have so little interest in keeping the best feudal traditions."

"I seem to remember," said Drusilla, "that there is quite some distance from your bedchamber to the traditional one for the Countess." 

"It is very thoughtful of you to think of Turvey's feelings at the likely wear to my slippers," he said.

"Indeed, if moving makes _Turvey_ happy, what other reason could we need?" She ticked one thing off her mental checklist and continued, "Of course, I wouldn't dream of touching the dining rooms. Where else could we keep the epergne?"

"That damnable epergne!" Gervase said. "I finally think I'll be able to consign all the family heirlooms I dislike to dark cupboards, and I find my own wife plotting against me! I expect you're in league with that snarling tiger."

"If my lord would like me to bite him…. " Drusilla said.

"Vixen," replied Gervase. "Besides, I fear we have not enough dark cupboards to fit everything I dislike. It will have to be attics, I am afraid, the dampest and most inconvenient ones we can find."

He put down his cup and gathered Drusilla close, waiting until she had put down her own before tipping her face up and kissing her thoroughly. Drusilla loved the feel of his fingertips on her throat, sliding down her neck to the top of her breasts to rest there teasingly.

"Perhaps," Drusilla said, pulling away just enough to speak, but not so far that she couldn't tighten her fingers on his knee, "perhaps we should investigate your apartments, just to be certain we don't want to use them."

"A most practical suggestion, my dear robin," Gervase said, getting up and offering a hand to his wife. "I shall make sure you make it safely to your room."

"Very thoughtful," agreed Drusilla. "You are most gentlemanly, my lord." 

>>>>

Drusilla looked around the attic in mingled dismay and curiosity. It had been her idea to come up here, having woken on her first morning as mistress of Stanyon filled with determination not to spend another night in the sombre and uncomfortable rooms traditionally occupied by the Earl and his lady. Not even the presence of Gervase, smiling sleepily and stretching out his naked body in blatant invitation, could completely distract her from the many inconveniences of the room. Gervase had laughed, pressed her back into the lumpy pillows, and kissed his way down her body as she complained, increasingly breathlessly. She gave up as he moved up again, kissing her lips as he fitted their bodies together in a way that made her gasp and clutch his shoulders. She squeezed him tight, enjoying the way he mumbled his love into her throat as they moved together.

He laughed afterwards, as she fished a tablet of paper and a pencil off the table beside the bed, but entered thoroughly into her plans. She hadn't expected Gervase to take so wholeheartedly to the idea of redecorating, but she supposed that the twin spurs of a rainy day and the desire to get rid of the epergne from the dining room were strong motivating factors. It was possible that he, like Drusilla, also considered it prudent to be not at home should the Dowager come to call. 

Stanyon, being well provided with wings and courts, was equally well provided with attics. They had started in the one in the main living wing, and Drusilla was relieved to find that it, at least, was not damp. It was, on the other hand, crowded with all manner of things, from furniture that looked merely in need of some trifling fix, to innumerable stacked trunks and bandboxes, to piles of unidentifiable clutter. 

"It seems, my lord, that every other Frant in the long history of your family - though not so long as mine! - has also consigned their unwanted heirlooms to the attics," she said.

"How heartening to know that I am acting purely to familial type," he said. "Though I hope their collective tendency to throw away everything that merely needs a nail or two, or some glue, does not run true in me."

"Most delightfully thrifty," said Drusilla.

"Oh, my cousin was always preaching economy," he said, and then stopped. Drusilla could imagine Theo saying that, too, but she wouldn't go near that thought anymore than Gervase would.

"Judging by the amount of furniture in here," she said, turning the subject, "we will have no need to employ a fashionable architect to come and build a new wing. We will be satisfied with the help of a couple of sturdy boys and a carpenter, I think. Perhaps we can get rid of those particularly ugly tables with the gryphons in the hall."

"Indeed, I find them repulsive also, and there seems to be a pair of huge walnut cabinets, with doors I doubt I could open unaided, over there that could possibly replace them."

"That would certainly be more in keeping with the style of the hall, but is is entirely possible we will find something even larger if we keep looking," Drusilla said, removing her tablet and pencil from her reticule to make a note.

"Very likely," said Gervase. "You are so organised, my love."

"I merely hope we won't have to use the scraps of paper, like Hansel and Gretel, to find our way out at the end of the day."

Drusilla consulted her notes as Gervase wandered idly around the room with a lamp, bending low to peer into the corners. She had decided, with Gervase's grave agreement, to overturn the Dowager's style and rule in one fell swoop. In particular, the hall, the formal drawing room, a few rather less formal sitting rooms, and the smaller of the two dining rooms; the rooms, in other words, that were most public and would sent the most public message, as she received bride calls and they entertained informally. 

Drusilla knew her elevation was food for local gossip, and not all of it was approving. She understood keenly that her behaviour over the next few days and weeks would shape her position in the county. Overturning the Dowager's taste and judgement was risky, not least because the Dowager would not hesitate to condemn it, but it would set the standard that she would do things her own way.

Lifting her eyes and watching Gervase open a box here and lift a lid there, she wondered what he thought of the intricacies of this maneuver. She rather thought he must know of them; he was acutely observant, and she had no doubt he knew many of her motives in making these changes now. Foremost, of course, she wanted them to be happy, and she rather thought that was Gervase's key object too.

"My dear, do you suppose madness is a family trait I have hitherto been unaware of?" Gervase asked, looking into a box.

"I have heard that the fourth Earl was subject to the occasional turn," she said. 

"Well, someone has put a delightful Sèvres tea set - complete, mind you - in a box in the attic."

"That goes beyond the occasional turn," said Drusilla. "I think we can say without hesitation that we will have that out." She carefully took the box that Gervase gave her and peeped inside. A charming green and gilt pattern met her gaze, and she shook her head in astonishment before summoning the footman waiting at the bottom of the stairs to take charge of the box and convey it to her sitting room.

She turned to see Gervase standing very still, one hand pushing aside a box to see behind it. She crossed to him at once. Her inquiry died on her lips. It was a portrait. 

There was no mistaking the figure of Gervase's father, standing portentously behind the chair. The woman seated was so like Gervase that her breath caught, both at the likeness and at the colouring repeated in the small child sitting on her knee. Drusilla was still for a long moment, not sure what to do or say, but she saw the tightness across Gervase's back and took the last step to rest her hand on his shoulder. 

Half turning, Gervase pulled her closer, tucking her in tightly to his side. She slipped both arms around him and held him as best she could. She had nothing to say to this, and couldn't guess how Gervase might respond. She had merely to wait, and follow his lead.

"You know, I've only once seen a miniature of my mother before," he said. "It is startling to see the resemblance."

"She is exceedingly beautiful," Drusilla said.

"I've never known quite what to think of heer," he said. "Should I despise her for abandoning me, or pity her for being driven to it?"

"And have you decided?"

"No, I still haven't." Gervase sighed, and continued, "It seems a little fatalistic, but I cannot help but think that there is nothing I can do about it, and therefore no point making any decisions about it."

Drusilla held him a little tighter. The small Gervase in the portrait was smiling sweetly and wistfully, and she could only imagine how he must have felt when his mama didn't return to him. 

"There is no need to make a decision now," Drusilla said. "You know where the portrait is. If you wish, we can make room for it to hang."

Gervase appeared to think about this for a moment. "That's true," he said. "For all your vast decision, this is not a short campaign. We have plenty of time to make Stanyon what we want it to be."

He kissed the top of her head, then her cheek. Drusilla turned her face and kissed his lips. 

"Indeed," she said. "Tomorrow, tea with the Dowager in a room she is unaccustomed to - you are a military man; do you think that is a skirmish?"

"At least," he said, gravely. "A flanking maneuver, with a new tea service and a distinct lack of epergne."

"My lord, I will certainly not risk our new Sèvres tea set with the Dowager tomorrow. Aren't you always taught to _reserve your fire_?"

Gervase laughed, and put the box back into place, covering the portrait.

"And the tea set is a cavalry charge?" he asked.

"We must look in the other boxes," she said. "Anyone mad enough to stash that tea set in the attic will not have stopped there. I must have more artillery."

"I am at your service," Gervase said. "With luck, we will find a set of chairs to replace those rather repugnant ones with the reptilian feet in the formal drawing room."

>>>>

Drusilla sat at her new desk - marquetry, probably Louis XV, and perfectly serviceable after being denuded of cobwebs and given a good polish to bring up the lovely wood grain patterning - and spread the leaves of her tablet in front of her. Gervase entered without knocking and crossed to the desk to kiss her soundly. 

"We must prepare our positions, my love; my mother-in-law is coming up the drive."

Drusilla did not look around the room; she knew her preparations were made. Instead, she stood and tugged her husband closer, kissing him again, more softly, but with heat. He returned the embrace, and Drusilla let herself get lost in the pressure of his lips, the firmness of his shoulders under her fingers. This was, she thought, the most important disposition of their battle: that they should love one another.

She let him go before they had to worry about the door opening, and he kissed her cheek once more, then touched her lips with gentle fingers.

"You are always unexpected, my robin," he said. 

"Is it not traditional to kiss for luck?" she asked.

"I have not yet kissed Lucy before a battle," he answered, "but I believe I can enjoy this tradition."

She kissed him again, sweet and gentle, before crossing to sit on the sofa. He sat on one of the nearby chairs, and they both rose as the Dowager swept in, barely waiting for Abney to close the door before demanding to know why they were having tea in here, and not in the Pink Saloon, as they always had done.

Drusilla shook hands with her outraged mother-in-law, and caught Gervase's eye with a shared look of mirth and understanding as Lady St Erth caught herself and uttered a series of majestic, and insincere, felicitations. Drusilla rang for tea, and found herself to be right at home.


End file.
